Once Upon Infinity
by kaleidoscopeepocsodielak
Summary: Following the episode "Going Home," Captain Hook is determined to convince Emma Swan of his sincerity and her need to save the Enchanted Forest. Unbeknownst to him, a curse is on its way to NYC. It is a curse like no other, and its consequences will transform our world in addition to every other realm in existence. Please review for quicker updates.
1. Hook I

For whatever reason, no one looked twice at the man with a hook for a hand. Every time Killian ventured into this land without magic, he found himself questioning whether people were blind to it or they did not care so long as he refrained from slashing at throats with the pointy end. There were a few onlookers, however, who pointed out his strange costume from time to time. A pirate's leather trench coat and black shirt cut low enough to reveal some traces of chest hair did not appear in fashion. Killian found it comfortable for adventures on the _Jolly Roger_, and that was all that mattered.

Fitting in to New York's lifestyle bothered him as much as understanding the stock market interests dairy cows. All he had to do was find Emma Swan, warn her of the danger, and whisk her away to the Enchanted Forrest. In his head, the whole process took no longer than five seconds as his fantasy of the headstrong blond would fall in love with him at first sight just as he had fallen for her two years ago. He had to verbally remind himself that Emma had no memory of anything related to Storybrooke, the Enchanted Forrest, or Neverland. Even with those memories, Emma had been slow to trust anyone, let alone a pirate.

As he stood before the right apartment door, a knot formed in his intestine. He could hear music coming from within, but he knew little and less of this culture's music. Placing the tune would have been more difficult than reattaching his severed hand. What if she slammed the door in his face? What if she shrieked and sprayed his eyes with mace? What if the floor above collapses and crushes me to death? He stroked his beard, took a deep breath, and knocked at the solid oak door. No one responded, so he knocked again, putting every ounce of excitement into the salutation. The music shut off.

Moments later, the door swung in, offering his first look at Emma in a year. She could not possibly have aged a day. She wore pink pajamas, and her unkempt hair let Killian know his lady had yet to shower. Even though she had looked far better at their last meeting, one year of separation pulled his lips into an unbidden smile. "Swan!" he gasped, forgetting for a moment that she would not recognize him.

"Do I know you?" she asked, her eyes betraying confusion and suspicion.

"I need your help," he spat hurriedly. "Something's happened. Something terrible. Your family is in trouble."

"My family's right here. Who are you?" Emma refuted without blinking an eye.

"An old friend. I know you can't remember me, but I can make you."

Grasping for a quick solution to Emma's befuddled mind, Killian lunged forward and placed a kiss upon her bright, pink lips. In this kiss, he communicated all his love and devotion. It said, _my heart is yours now and forever_. Something must have gotten lost in translation, for Emma pushed the pirate away in seconds, not even bothering to kiss back. Worse, she smashed her knee into his short sword. Killian's heart sank as he understood the actions' meaning.

"The hell are you doing?" she demanded.

"A long shot. I had to try," he whispered in pain. "I was hoping you felt as I did." As long a shot as it had been, its failure hurt the captain more than any prior injury in his career as a swashbuckler.

"All you're gonna feel is the handcuffs once I call the cops," Emma objected.

"Look, I know this seems crazy, but you have to listen to me. You have to remember Storybrooke!"

Emma slammed the door in his face before he could complete the sentence. His worst fear had become reality. Not only did the girl of his dreams not love him, but she also would not listen to him. His entire mission was a failure. From within the apartment, he could hear Henry's voice ask who had been at the door. As if the woman sought to cause even more pain, she answered, "No idea. Someone must have left the door open downstairs. Go on. Let's eat."

Unwilling to give up after crossing realms for the sole purpose of passing along this message, Killian rapped at the door over and over.

"I was serious about the police!" her voice yelled through the door.

"I did not transform myself into a merman, cross realms, avoid a kraken, and survive a New Yorkian taxi ride just to have a door slammed in my face!"

"Henry, step away from the door. The man out there is dangerous."

Any other time, Killian might have found the warning flattering. He had not perpetuated the rumors of "Captain Hook" so that commoners would think of him as a sex symbol after all. A pirate was nothing without a fear-inducing reputation. In this case, however, he had to gain the trust of the most mistrustful woman he had ever known. Her paranoia made conspiracy theorists look like Gilderoy Lockheart.

"You need to believe me, Emma," he shouted. "Look, I can prove that I know you. I know everything there is to know. You have a son named Henry who you love more than anything in the world."

"That proves nothing!" she yelled back. "I just called him by name five seconds ago."

An unbidden chuckle erupted from his gut, causing the pain below his buckle to flare up once more. Leaning against the apartment door, he slid down the length until his posterior rested on the floor. Had his legs been bent any further, he would have been in the fetal position. "I know that you almost decided not to keep him. You thought you would make for a poor mother since you had no example to follow. Plus the boy's father abandoned you at the first sign of trouble. But for some reason you still cannot explain, you chose at the very last second to keep Henry, and it was the best decision you ever made."

"Easily figured out with a little investigating," Emma objected. "If you want to stay out of jail, you might want to leave in the next five minutes. Police tend to respond quickly when children are in danger."

"Actually," Killian replied with a smug smirk, "I did do a little 'investigating' as you call it. According to your official hospital records, you gave Henry up without one glance at your newborn. He was then adopted by a single woman in Maine. If you don't believe me, I have the paperwork right here to prove it."

"That only means the hospital made a mistake."

The captain's head thudded against the door. He gnashed his teeth at the woman's insufferable disbelief. Had it truly been this difficult for Henry? He would have to ask as soon as he figured out how to restore the boy's memories. Now that he thought of it, volunteering for this mission may have been misguided.

Only a kiss of true love could break a curse in his experience, but Regina and the Blue Fairy must know of other methods, and they could not be the only people with the knowhow. Why couldn't one of them have come instead? Regina had tried to explain it, but sometimes the rules of magic she spouted off sounded made-up. Since when could fairies not cross realms? Tink and Blue had both done that, but Regina explained that away with more irritating magibabble. Baelfire and the Charmings were under siege at the castle, and Belle still mourned for her lost crocodile. That had left Killian as the most enthusiastic, able person to cross from the Enchanted Forest to Boston Harbor.

The wail of a siren shook the brigand out of his stupor. At any moment, two or more of New York's "finest" would stride down the hall, point weapons in his face, and tear him away from his love. With the laws in place in these United States, only God knew if he would ever have the opportunity to meet her again. He pushed himself off the floor and brushed off his trench coat with his in-tact hand. At a casual pace, he walked toward the staircase as if he had treaded the path every day. So when two officers rushed by him as he made it to the floor below Swan's residence, they took no notice of him. No doubt, they were looking for a man madder than Jefferson, the Enchanted Forest's haberdasher.

Killian exited the apartment building, turning left toward the harbor. His life had been full of complicated problems ranging from magic to piracy. In each case, being on the water had refocused him, giving him a fresh perspective. The oceans were always in a state of change whether the tide rolled in or receded. Somehow being in a place where no one could control the environment brought him peace where others would only become fearful or retch. While he did not have the _Jolly Roger_ in his possession, perhaps being near the salty air and walking along the strand would be enough.

How any of these New Yorkers arrived at their destinations alive baffled Hook. Always, the vehicles charged forward as their drivers sought to arrive before anyone else. It was a race which had neither finish line nor prize, yet everyone participated. Storybrooke had not been such a death trap. True enough, car accidents happened, but they usually did not involve more than one automobile, and any damage done happened to signs. Here, it appeared, a pedestrian could meet his end at a random moment and no one but the coroner would pay any mind. Where were they all going, and why did they need to be in such a hurry?

As he passed a pizzeria, the ground shook for a few seconds. All around Killian, people froze in place and stared at the pavement as if it would offer an explanation. Having lived the better part of his life at sea, walking upon an unsteady surface came more naturally to the captain. On the other hand, fruits and vegetables from nearby shops did not typically roll under his feet on deck after a wave. Under normal circumstances, a stranger might have taken a video of the oddly-dressed pirate slipping on a banana and uploaded it to the Internet. Fortunately for him, a more powerful tremor shook the earth.

Screams filled the air. People covered their heads with arms and purses and anything else they had handy. Two frightened women tripped over the fallen pirate and crawled away without apology. Nursing a pain in his abdomen, Killian pushed himself off the sidewalk and hobbled over to the pizzeria. Another lurch from the earth formed a crack in the road large enough to hide a treasure chest. An unobservant taxi driver soon discovered just how impossible it would be to drive over the fissure.

If Killian had thought New York traffic had been a nightmare before, he could not now describe the chaos this earthquake had caused. Cars appeared to have merged with each other in ways which prevented further use. Water shot through the air. Fires and electrical sparks seemed to be erupting from everywhere. A cedar table fell from the fifth floor of a building and landed right on top of a yellow Fiat. It was as though someone had sprung the death trap of American cities.

As if the last three tectonic shifts had not been enough, another shook the city until nearly every window in view burst into millions of shards, cascading onto the street. Killian had chosen a good haven, for the green awning protected him from the worst of it, though he could feel the heat from a nearby, unseen fire. He turned to face the source, but he instead watched something appear which frightened him more than the earthquake. He had seen something like it thrice in his lifetime. The first had been purple and froze him for 28 years. The second had been green and threatened to remove all his memories of Emma. The third had been pink and separated him from this world. Now a blood red cloud of smoke swept through New York City.

A curse! But that was impossible. The curse was coming to the Enchanted Forest, not this world. Despite its impossible existence, Killian could not deny what he saw with his own eyes. Only Swan could be stubborn enough to do that.

"Emma!" he whispered.

Without delay, he ran back toward the apartment. The Swans would not understand, not with their modified memories. If he could reach them before the curse, perhaps he would be able to be of some comfort. But curses were unpredictable. What if this one ripped him further away than the last? What if it killed anyone in the presence of his true love? What if it caused the clouds to rain cranberries? No matter what this curse brought, he knew that nothing on Earth could keep him away from the only people he loved on this Earth.

The curse chased after Killian. It would be impossible to outrun. He made it to the building when the cloud was just two blocks away. He climbed the stairs, skipping over two steps at a time. When he found the room, he kicked the door open with surprising ease. Before he could remark on that, however, he found himself staring into an empty room. Vases lay in pieces on the floor, pools of water saturating the hardwood. No picture frame appeared to be in its proper place.

"Emma!" he shouted. "Henry! Where are you?"

The ground shook again; the building swayed with the ground's every movement. Killian stole through the apartment, swinging wide every door only to find no one there. She must have vacated the apartment, but he could not tell whether he or the earthquake had driven her away. All alone, he sat upon a couch and waited. At any moment, blood red smoke would surround him, and the curse would take effect.

He closed his eyes so tight, he could see only the barest traces of light diminish. Inhaling, he thought only of Emma's smile and the kiss she gave him in Neverland. It was a pleasant memory, yet it saddened him to think he might not remember in a few minutes. A sudden fire lit in his lungs. Each breath was painful, as if he were trying to breath inside a chimney with a fire beneath. Coughing, he opened his eyes. The color red, though usually bright, obscured the world in darkness.

As quickly as the cloud had come, it disappeared. Killian looked about the room. It was the same as before, still damaged by an earthquake. His abdomen still hurt from those careless women trampling him in the streets. All his memories of the Enchanted Forest, Storybrooke, and the _Jolly Roger_ were all still there. Best of all, he could remember Emma. So what had the curse done? It did not appear to have changed anything.

His appraisal of the situation required a sudden shift. A loud wheezing noise was coming from Henry's bedroom. It sounded as though an asthmatic were gasping through a megaphone while someone dropped a bowling ball on the lane rather than rolling it. Curious as ever, the pirate investigated the sound. Next to Henry's bed stood a large blue box, something which had definitely not been there before. The high-pitched creak of a door met Killian's ear just before the most eccentric-looking man stepped out of the box.

Tall and skinny, he did not appear to be much of a fighter. His face was clean-shaven and belonged to a man no older than thirty. Brown locks extended below his eyebrows on the right side. He wore a brown suit and mismatching bowtie. In his hand, he carried a silver tube the length of a cigar which he tossed into the air and caught with ease.

"Hello, there," the box man said with a cocky smile, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is seventeenth century Spain, yes?"

"If this were Spain, shouldn't you be speaking Spanish?" Killian asked, confused by the ridiculous question.

"I thought I was. Am. But apparently not. Tardis translation circuit and all. I'm the Doctor!"

"Doctor? Doctor Who?"


	2. Emma I

The tremors ceased, but Emma felt no safer than before she and her son ducked under the table. Nearby were crouched the two responding police officers and seven other tenants whose names she had never bothered to learn. Somehow, she remembered just at this moment her failure to secure the apartment door before heading to the basement for laundry, but she dared not go back to fix her mistake. Henry showed a brave face at the moment, but maternal instincts told her the boy had never been more afraid. Earthquakes were not exactly common occurrences in New England.

Just when she thought the worst had passed, a billow of strange, red smoke crept into the basement. At first, she thought it might have been a cloud of debris, but its every movement suggested a consciousness, which disturbed Emma in no small measure. The rotund officer with an unkempt brown mustache approached, a shaking flashlight gripped tight in his left fist. The shockwaves had driven the purpose of his presence from memory, but they had not perverted his sense of duty. A tendril of red mist shot out at the man, enveloping him in seconds. The other basement occupants backed away when they heard a strangled cry. Already backed into a corner, Emma had no other recourse than to hug her son closer. Whatever approached, whether bio-weapon or some other unknown, Emma could think of nothing she would rather do in her last moments than express the love she had for her boy.

Menacing and surreal, the smoke edged closer, trapping people with its swirling coils of weightless red. It sounded as though they were all being hanged. Desperate choking noises came from all directions. Henry buried his face in Emma's elbow. The instinct to run almost took over before another shockwave sent pieces of ceiling tumbling onto the table's surface. When the cloud came within inches, its progress halted. As the hovering red smoke licked at the air surrounding mother and child, Emma could have sworn she saw a wide grin.

All at once, the cloud darted into Emma's corner and choked her as it had the others. She could not breathe for what seemed an eternity, and she could feel Henry gasping for air as well. Powerless and hopeless, Emma let out a scream no one would ever hear. But just as quickly as the red had become everything in her world, it dissipated like an ice cube under a water faucet. The world came back into focus. On the floor lay two policemen and one…two…three…four tenants. Wait…four? Moments before, there had been seven. Where had they gone? Emma hugged Henry close only to find her arms embracing nothing.

"Henry?" she croaked. Emma cleared her throat. "Henry? Where are you?"

Leaping to her feet, she looked all about her, examining every inch of the basement. Nothing remained to suggest the boy had ever so much as set foot in the room. A black-haired woman who appeared to be in her late thirties had the same panicked look in her eye. "Have you seen Martin?" she asked. "Has anyone seen him? Where's Martin?"

Whoever Martin is…or was…he did not matter when Henry was missing. Emma screamed her son's name and dashed up the stairs. Surely he must be there. He could not have vanished into nothingness. At the ground floor, she found the entry to her apartment building more of a wreck than when last she saw it. Shattered glass littered the floor. Furniture had fallen over or stood askew. The brass chandelier which had been hanging over the front desk now lay in a heap, twisted, dented, and broken. Yet, for all her looking, Henry was nowhere. She called out to him again and again until her voice went hoarse. Even then, she would not give up on the boy. She forced the front door open and looked up and down West Rosebud Avenue.

Frantic searches have a way of making people look in the most implausible places for that which is lost. Emma crouched on hands and knees to inspect the underside of parked vehicles and drains, places which Henry could not possibly have found in such a short amount of time even if the red, smoky cloud had not blocked all things from view. But what other choice did she have? Henry had to be somewhere, and she had to find that place. Something horrible would happen if she could not. Too focused on her task, Emma did not know how she ended up three blocks away from her apartment building.

Emma tried stopping others New Yorkers, asking whether they had seen a black-haired, twelve year-old boy wandering the streets. Most of them, however, appeared just as frightened and confused as her. One such man Emma approached wore a white oxford beneath a nice suit. Tall and handsome, he looked rather young considering he had some gray hairs outlining his hairline. Her first impression of the stranger was that he was trustworthy and kind. Given she had only spent quality time with a crazy hobo trying to break into her apartment that morning, she decided her expectations were low.

"Finch, I really need some directions here," he said to no one.

"Uh…excuse me, sir," Emma interrupted. "I'm looking for my son. He's about this tall and has long black hair. You didn't happen to see him, did you?"

"What do you mean you can't trace my cell?" he asked. The tenor of his voice sounded calm, but Emma could tell by his body language he felt otherwise.

Unsure what to make of the suited man's conversation with air, Emma decided to move on to someone else. It only occurred to her later that he might have been using Bluetooth. Next, she found a blond girl who looked to be in her early twenties. The eighteenth century metallic ring on her finger stood out next to her more trendy clothing.

"Hi," the girl said. "This is going to sound a bit odd, but where am I?"

"I think it's Washington Road," Emma replied. "You haven't seen…"

"No, I meant what city is this?"

"New York City," Emma answered. Though the girl did not appear to be intoxicated, it was difficult to tell such things. Back when she had been living irresponsibly, before Henry had come into the picture, Emma had discovered many techniques to hide her marijuana and alcohol intake marginally well. Perhaps this girl had mastered the skill.

"New York City?!" she shrieked. "But that's in New York!"

"Yeah," Emma said, concerned. "Last I checked, anyway. Where'd you think you were?"

"Mystic Falls, Virginia," the girl replied without blinking.

Now Emma knew this girl had to be using. Either that or she belonged in a mental ward. No sane person would dare give a real place that name. Help from this source did not seem likely, but she pulled out a picture from her purse all the same. "Well, if you see my son, Henry, please give me a call."

"I'm still trying to figure out how I got here," the girl objected. "One moment I'm talking to Bonnie and Elena, and the next I find myself on this street. How does something like that happen?"

"Probably a combination of amphetamines and sleepwalking," Emma blurted. "What you're saying is impossible. People cannot just teleport. Either help me or get yourself some."

Perhaps she had handled the situation with less tact than was wise, but the earthquakes had destroyed her sense of security. Indeed, it had taken her world and turned it upside-down. Tact could not be the most important consideration. Not when her son's whereabouts remained uncertain. Why couldn't this Mystic Falls girl or that suited man understand her needs? Why couldn't everyone put aside their selfish desires and help her?

Emma would have moved on with her fruitless pursuit, but the oddest sight met her eyes. The most muscular man Emma had ever seen flew through the air just above a three-story building, twirling a hammer over his head. Dressed in armor from some ancient civilization, he looked as though he belonged at a Renaissance Fair. Even more ridiculous was the red cloak trailing behind and flapping in the breeze. All she needed now was to hear Darth Vader tell her he was her father, and this ludicrous day would be complete.

Once the flying man disappeared from view, she turned back to the blond from Mystic Falls. Suddenly her claims did not seem as impossible as before. "What did you say your name was?" Emma asked.

"Caroline," she replied. Though she had endured some cutting words from Emma, it appeared the girl had accepted the change in tone gracefully.

"Emma. Who are Elena and Bonnie?"

"My best friends. We were about to celebrate our graduation when I found myself here. Now I can't find anyone."

"Graduation? In November? What college lets you do that?"

"No, silly. Not college. I'm graduating high school."

"Oh," Emma replied as though it had cleared up everything. "So were you held back a few times?"

"Nope. Actually, I skipped a grade."

Emma surveyed Caroline's appearance once more, again coming to the conclusion this girl was in her early or middle twenties. As this debate brought her no closer to Henry, however, she decided not to press the issue. Instead, the woman began formulating a plan for understanding all these changes. First, she needed to organize all the puzzle pieces in play.

"When you were still in Mystic Falls, did you see anything unusual?" Emma asked.

"Unusual for me or most people?" Caroline answered. When Mrs. Swan sent an incredulous stare at the graduate, she expounded, "My life is a little different from most. Seeing unusual things happens once a week. Usually on Thursdays."

"Did you see a red cloud of smoke?"

"Yeah. Did you see one too? Oh, right. Stupid question. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked."

"We need to gather everyone we can and figure out what we're dealing with," Emma explained. "If we don't there will be panic, and that will cause more damage than any earthquake. Help me round up everyone we can, and we'll meet up here in half an hour, alright?"

"Good plan," Caroline consented with a smile. Without another word, she shot off to do her task so fast, Emma almost thought the girl possessed super speed.

Re-approaching the man in the suit proved more of a challenge. For one thing, he had drawn a weapon now trained upon a much larger man whose raised arms were covered in tattoos. All at once, the tattooed man reached for the gun and wrenched it from the suited man's grasp. Punching at each other in a series of rapid attacks, Emma learned plenty about both men. While smaller and less physically imposing, the man in the suit had been trained well for fisticuffs. Perhaps he had been in the military. The tattooed man, on the other hand, knew one style of fighting: brute force. In a matter of moments, the man in the suit stood victorious over his attacker's unconscious body.

"What are you doing?!" Emma cried out.

The man in the suit looked her way and sized her up as if determining whether she posed a threat. He must not have been impressed, for he turned to walk away. As unintelligent as it seemed, having just witnessed the man's prowess, Emma would not back away. She had learned long ago in foster homes that she could take care of herself in a fight. Survival without that confidence and ability would have been impossible. Besides, she had no intention of confronting the fellow in single combat.

Blocking the man's retreat, Emma asked once again why the fight had occurred. "His name's Vladimir Borkovich. Look at the tattoo on the back of his right hand. It's a triangle that connects at the center rather than the vertices. That tattoo marks him as a member of a Russian gang that's taking over New York City as we speak, flooding our streets with drugs and guns and all manner of unpleasant criminal activity. And on top of all that, he was targeting a public official who…"

"Wait a moment," Emma interrupted. "Did you say New York?"

"Yes."

"So you aren't from Oz or someplace crazy?"

"Of course not. Are you feeling alright?"

* * *

So we are finally seeing a glimpse of what the curse has done to our world. But who sent it, and to what purpose?

If you have enjoyed the story so far, please leave comments. Also, this story is not meant to "ship" anyone. A relationship may start, but that does not mean it will end happily.


	3. Charming I

Facing danger was no more new to the prince than wielding a sword. One of the first things he had learned about being a fugitive, however, was that confronting a threat did not always make for the wisest of plans. Had he not fled King George's wrath, James's head would have come to rest upon a spike, and Snow White would have darkened her heart by murdering the queen. Now the Prince came face to face with another opportunity to showcase his speed.

Ordinarily, wolves would not have scared him so much, but these beasts were as tall as him and more than thrice as heavy. Even dressed in boiled brown leather and a mail shirt, the prince could not withstand their giant teeth. When Red changed under the full moon, she would have cowered at their shadows as well. So as James ran along a road at the outskirts of some strange, foreign city, he felt no shame at his panicked retreat. The buildings were far larger than the ones he remembered from Storybrooke though not so massive as his castle in the Enchanted Forest. Nothing could hope to be as grand as that, especially without Snow.

Riding astride the fiercest of the gray wolves was a monster with drawn sword. The rider had white skin with foul patterns carved into the arms and bare chest. It was as if he had decided his stature and muscles had not made him imposing enough. When the monster spoke, it sounded like no language the prince had ever heard, but the words spurred the wolves on all the same.

At the rate the predators gave chase, James knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up to him. He came upon a five-floor building with a revolving door. He pushed at the handle, but it remained stubbornly still until he leaned into the door. The glass door turned at a painful pace, and the wolves drew ever nearer. He could feel their breath on his neck. Pushing harder, James managed to slip inside just enough to trap him in a pie slice-shaped area. The white monster roared as he leapt from his steed. It sheathed its sword and pounded on the pane of glass behind James. A spider web crack grew where the fist had landed. James pushed once again, gaining entry to the building's atrium.

Inside, no less than twenty men and women stared his way. Looking down at his attire, the prince realized that he did not quite fit in with twenty-first century fashion. Then again, his time as David Nolan had been so brief, there had been no point in keeping the flannel shirts when he felt more at ease in armor and cloaks. A loud crash from behind James caused the multitude to shrink back, reminding the prince he could not possibly be the strangest sight.

James gripped the hilt strapped to his waist and pulled it from the sheath. The white monster might be bigger than any foe he had yet faced, but it was better to defend himself now while the wolves were parted from their master. Flourishing the blade in his right hand helped him recall his experiences. When the monster attacked the next glass pane, James did not shudder like the others. In his mind, he could see the fight before it began. Though large and powerful, this enemy's greatest asset appeared to be in its strength. It had not figured out how to turn the revolving door without earning itself a smack from the pane behind. Clearly, his enemy would endeavor to end the fight quickly rather than rely on tactics.

"Stand back, everyone!" James warned the stupefied crowd. In his experience, people who stopped to observe a fight tended to forget their own safety when the fighters were the focus.

When at last the white monster broke through the last barrier between it and the prince, it issued a deafening roar which might have been a laugh. It spoke incoherent words which might have been attempts at taunting, but the effort was lost on James. For all he knew, it could have been a knock-knock joke. As it did not truly matter, the prince readied his sword and set his stance to repel the first strike.

The beast tilted its head and bared its black teeth in a wide smile. The sound of metal scraping metal warned James of an impending attack. For all his preparations, the prince had not expected the monster to leap into action with such speed. He barely had enough time to lift his blade to block his opponent's. Even with all his battle experience, the shock of this first strike almost forced him to drop the only thing protecting him from becoming a head shorter.

With each parry, the prince felt as though his arm would pop out of its socket. He had never known a man capable of such powerful blows. But then he had to remind himself the white monster was no man. Did this difference in species bring about this attack? The prince could not tell the monster's purpose any more than he could determine whether the beast operated on anything more than basic instinct. One moment he had been holding Snow in his arms as they discussed a strategy for defeating an enemy army when a cloud of red curse engulfed him. The next, he lay on a bed of wet leaves and mud at the same time as the humorless beast and its marauding pack of wolves.

Prince James had thought dodging his adversary long enough would exhaust the monster, but its speed was such that he could not move fast enough to do anything but block slashes and thrusts. Now the prince found himself tiring, a condition he knew would prove fatal if he could not change the tone of combat. He raised his sword and cut at the beast's right shoulder, his first aggressive move of the encounter. This proved a mistake as the monster had anticipated the sloppy attack, countered it with a flick of his sword, and kicked James in his unguarded chest.

Clattering to the ground went the sword as it fell from the prince's hand. He flew backward and into a Grecian column. For a moment, he though his vertebrae had shattered against the stone. He also found breathing painful and talking impossible. Gasping, he attempted to retrieve his weapon, but the monster stomped on his forearm with steel-toe boot. He would have screamed, but his lungs were still trying to replace all the air he had lost.

The monster spoke disturbing words which made no sense to Prince James's ear. It lifted its arm in preparation for a killing blow. Frightened as he was, James could not bear to close his eyes, which would have made his last act in life one of cowardice. Instead, he thought of Snow and Emma and Henry. He would be with his family in his last moments. It would not be a horrible way to go in his opinion. James looked into the monster's eyes and saw hatred of the purest sort, something he had seen in Regina before her reformation.

BOOM!

Red liquid splashed James's face and throat. For a moment, he thought it was his own, but then he remembered swords made a different sort of noise. A large hole in the monster's head appeared just before it toppled backward. The sound of bones crunching and blood splattering let James know the danger had gone with the beast's life. Shaking, he flipped onto his stomach and crawled to his feet. For some reason, his legs were more wobbly than the Jell-O Mary Margret had fed him when he came out of the coma.

"You're welcome," said a gruff voice.

A man in a brown fedora stepped forward from the crowd, holstering a gun at his waist. At the man's other hip was a coiled whip. He wore a leather jacket and a slightly amused expression behind his five o'clock shadow. Everyone else in the building looked in one of four directions: the enormous wolves, the downed monster, the sweating prince, or the swaggering gunman. No one's gaze stayed in one place for very long.

James knew he should thank the stranger for saving his life. Without that interference, he would have been dead as Rumplestiltskin. But a sudden realization prevented the courteous response. "You were in the crowd the whole time?"

"Yeah."

"So…you just waited to take down the monster until the last possible moment? Why would you do that? What if you missed?"

"I didn't," the stranger replied as if that should suffice.

"I would have died!"

"As I said…you're welcome. So who are you supposed to be anyway? Prince Charming?"

James's nose flared. Only Snow was allowed to call him that. "My name is James," he retorted. "What about you? To whom do I owe thanks for this pathetic rescue?"

"Dr. Jones," the man who resembled no doctor James had ever seen replied. "Most people call me Indy, though."

"Oh," James said, unsure how else to respond. Now they had exchanged names, the men still knew little and less of the other than the inquiry had foreshadowed. "I suppose I do owe you thanks, even if you could have saved me that exhausting fight."

"Speaking of which, who's your albino friend?" Dr. Jones asked.

"We never met until an hour ago. I took him for an ogre at first, but they're much larger and…blind."

If the prince's comment concerning ogres had fazed Dr. Jones in any way, he did not show it. Instead, he called over a boy who must have still been in secondary school. The boy had curly, strawberry-blond hair and an apparent struggle saying "no" to chips. As he waddled over to the doctor, he accidentally kicked the sword. Seconds later, he was holding his foot in both hands, proclaiming his pain like a gorilla. His short hops into the air caused him to collide into Doctor Jones, knocking both of them to the ground.

"Umph!" Dr. Jones grunted. "Chet! Get off!"

The large boy rolled off the doctor, apologizing fifty times over as he went. James extended a hand to Chet and assisted in lifting the boy to his feet. Looking down at the floor, the boy muttered a single word which sounded like a hiss to James's ear. Chet turned to rejoin the crowd only for Dr. Jones to summon him back. The boy's pudgy face looked as though it had been dunked in raspberry juice, rosy and wet.

"Tell him what you told me," Dr. Jones prompted.

"About my insect collection or the largest mammal?" Chet asked.

"No! That thing you told me about what's going on here!"

"Oh, that," Chet said, slapping his own forehead with the palm of his right hand. "I've talked to nearly everyone in this room, and we all have one thing in common. We were all going about our lives when a red smoke cloud showed up and brought us here. The owner of this establishment, Jane Bollmeier, said it happened here too, but there were earthquakes before everyone showed up."

"Chet," Dr. Jones interrupted, "You did so well earlier. Why are you rushing through everything?"

Chet shrugged. "Anyway, to make a long story short, most of us are from a different world."

"I know," James asserted.

"You know?" Dr. Jones said.

"How could you know all that?" Chet asked.

"I've been through this before," James replied. "A curse took me and everyone I had ever known to a small town and stripped us all of our memories."

"Well, then," Chet said, "it appears that two things are different. One, we all have our memories intact. Two, none of us know each other. In this room alone, not one of us has ever crossed paths before. I even talked to the lady over there, Katniss. She doesn't remember a single thing from American history and insists her country's name is Panem. I pride myself on being informed on geographic matters, but I've never heard of Panem any more than I know of her so-called 'hunger games.'"

"So what are you telling me? That we're all from different worlds?"

"No," Chet insisted. "Aliens live on different worlds. We come from different universes."

"You mean alternate realities?" James asked.

"I guess you could put it that way," Chet conceded. "Somehow, people were taken out of their realities and put into one existing place. But selection for this process appears random."

"Selection?" Dr. Jones reacted with a frown. "You make it sound like someone did this to us."

James considered all the information as Dr. Jones began to argue that no one had such infinite power. Whoever created this curse had to have been more powerful than Rumplestiltskin, otherwise all these different realities could not have been affected. But who could be more powerful than The Dark One? Only one being came to mind, but the gun toting doctor had just begun a rant which he seemed to think proved God did not exist. This metaphysical discussion had already built a small headache in the prince, and he did not care to expand it by disagreeing with Dr. Jones.

"So what do we do now?" James asked. He found no answers on their wrinkled faces.

Chet screwed up his face in determination as if the question needed an immediate answer. "We could always dispose of the rotting corpse," he suggested.

* * *

Coming soon: The Evil Queen's first chapter

We have a theory starting for what the curse has done, but now we need to know who created the curse and why.

If you have questions regarding any of the characters and where they come from, send me a private message.


	4. Regina I

The man with the green apron reached across the counter with a paper cup in hand. His eyes betrayed amusement, though Regina could not decide its purpose. She accepted the hot cup and offered a smile which would have sent anyone who knew her scampering in the opposite direction for miles. Either he did not notice, or he misinterpreted, for he invited her to return before beckoning the next patron forward. The queen inhaled the scent of rich coffee beans as steam escaped the slit in the white, plastic lid. Aside from the more functional clothing, coffee had been what Regina missed most about the land without magic. Having already exchanged her extravagant costume for a more mayoral suit, she had set out to find her first cup since her return to the Enchanted Forest.

While she had appreciated the quaintness of Storybrooke, this city appeared to have more than Regina had ever dreamed possible. There were shops for everything: clothes, shoes, cosmetics, electronics. If she could have gone back and recast the curse, Storybrooke would have looked more like this. Who needs a sleepy town when a city rich in both history and commerce could be at her fingertips?

Whoever created this curse had thought of everything. The color of the smoke was too presumptuous for her taste, but it generally took a brazen mind to come up with inventive ideas. Her first guess had been Rumple, but he was dead, and no magic could raise the dead. Her tutor had been upfront about that much from the beginning. Memory of that encounter still discouraged her whenever she thought of all the death she had seen and caused. Right after crushing the huntsman's heart, Regina wished she could reintegrate the ruby red organ, but The Dark One's words haunted her in the vault.

Sitting by a window with the coffee shop's ostentatious symbol emblazoned across the glass, Regina took a sip and reveled in the mixture of cream and bitter coffee. Even Granny had never managed to make it this well, but perhaps her forced abstention made the reunion that much better. She made a mental note to bring coffee beans back with her to the Enchanted Forest should someone manage to break this curse as well. Even if she did not manage to leave an impact on this city, at least she would have materials to start a coffee plantation. Perhaps it would make her a hero in everyone's eyes when they could once again indulge in their addiction.

As she thought over these things, a tall man wearing gaudy blue livery sat in the cushioned chair opposite Regina. Embroidered with golden leaves, the costume looked as though it belonged to the general of some long forgotten military. A confident smile graced his pleasant face, which was shaven but for the congruent muttonchops extending down his cheeks. In his right hand, he held a cup identical to Regina's in all but the markings the barista had written on the side. The queen disliked him immediately.

"Hello," the man greeted. "Don't you just love the smell of hot chocolate?"

"I don't come here for the smells any more than conversation," Regina replied, hoping it would scare off the intruder.

"Oh, come, now," he said, brushing her comment aside with a wave of his hand. "Without a sense of smell, your taste buds would not appreciate your cup of java nearly as much as they do now. The two senses are linked just as the others. You feel the warmth in your throat, and you see the plumes of steam as they jump out at your eyes every time you take a sip. And the conversation at a restaurant such as this only adds to the experience. Without these sensations, your brain would not view this as a pleasant experience. You could be drinking cement mix, and your body wouldn't know the difference…well…until your stomach broke open from all the added weight. I just find it fascinating, all the different sight, sounds, and smells that go on all at once in a simple coffee shop. Don't you?"

The stranger's pleasant attitude irritated her more than reaching her hand into a pot of boiling water. "Do you enjoy walking up to strangers and sharing all the workings of your mind when they would rather not hear about it?"

"Ah, but we are not strangers, Regina," the man said as he sipped his beverage. He smacked his lips so that the couple in a booth five feet away turned their attention to the obnoxious man.

Regina dropped her cup onto the table, causing a droplet of coffee to leap up and attack her hand. "You know me? I don't believe we have ever met."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No," she conceded. "The Enchanted Forest is fully populated. I never bothered myself with knowing every person I trapped in Storybrooke, let alone all the others who escaped."

"Oh, my dear queen, you should take better pride in your kingdom."

"Not so loud," Regina hissed.

"No one is going to care who you are here," he scoffed. The man nickered like a horse and stood on his chair. "Watch this. HEY STARBUCKS CUSTOMERS! I'm sitting with Regina, the evil queen! Isn't that lovely?!"

Regina pulled at his livery, causing him to fall back into his seat. "What are you thinking?"

The man invited her to look about the room with a gesture like a game show host displaying a prize. "What I love about Americans is how you can say just about anything to them. You can yell it at the top of your lungs. They'll pay attention for a moment as if they're interested, but if they don't recognize what you say as important, they just resume their pathetic lives like nothing happened. None of them will even remember your name by the end of the day. You could tattoo a rainbow bull to your forehead, get a couple of sniggers, but eventually they will forget because it just didn't matter enough."

"Who are you? How do you know me?"

Dusting off his livery, the man chuckled. He seemed to find humor in everything. He tipped the hot beverage into his mouth and swallowed at least half of it. He coughed as though he were choking. "They should really warn people that hot chocolate is hot! Heh heh! Oh, wait. It's right here on the side. 'Warning! Contents may be hot!' They even have those cute little punctuation marks that let you know it's exciting."

"Exclamation points?"

"No, that's not it," he said, wagging his head and squinting. "Oh, it'll come to me. Do not fret. My point is, these people are so caught up in their little worlds, their routines, they have to have it all spelled out for them. They wake up, go to work, eat, and sleep. Then they do it all over again. Why? So they can reward themselves with a cup of coffee that tells them how to drink? It's all so boring. Not at all gratifying for them or me."

"Are you going to keep yammering?" Regina asked. "I'm just about ready to turn you into a porcupine."

The man let out a belly laugh. "You haven't any power over me, Reggie. I'm the one who brought you here."

Disbelief came all too easily for the queen. Any man could claim to have done something as Victor Frankenstein had proven with his botched revival of Daniel. Rumplestiltskin had also been an expert at the craft of deception. And now she was supposed to believe an upstart like this muttonchopped buffoon had pulled her out of the Enchanted Forest and into this world? It was more than she could stand. "And how would you do such a thing?"

"They say that if you want change, all you need is the will to see it done. I had that will. From there, everything was a snap."

"Clearly you're lying or you would be able to tell me," Regina asserted. She stood from her chair and tossed her half-emptied cup into a trash can.

"Where are you going?" the man asked, his voice conveying hurt.

"Somewhere worth my while. In other words, somewhere you're not."

"Sit down!" he screamed. The playfulness in his voice disappeared. "I did not excuse you."

Regina hesitated at the change of tone before opening the door. "You'll have to do better than that. Even I can sound nasty when it suits me."

"Fine."

She heard the sound of fingers snapping. Once more, she found herself sitting at a table facing the man in livery. The sneer twisted his face into something ugly as though she were seeing his reflection in a fun house mirror. Regina attempted to remove herself once more, but she found herself bound to the chair, clamped in irons. She cried out for help, but none of the patrons reacted to her pleas.

"As I said before, Americans don't pay attention unless it interests them. Right now, you're about as important as the gum stuck to the underside of their tables. Unseen, yet despicable."

"What do you want?"

"What do I want?" the man repeated, pointing to himself as if he were an innocent bystander. "Haven't you guessed? I want to end the boredom. I want to shake up these miserable lives and make them mean something. I want some entertainment in this miserable existence, and you are going to help make sure that happens."

"Why should I do anything you ask?" Regina demanded.

The man waved his hand, and a banana appeared there. He broke the fruit's stem and peeled the skin away from the meat. After taking a bite, he swallowed it with a loud gulp. "Mm. That's good. It feels nice to get a reward after doing some hard work. Don't you agree? Well, this little job I'm giving you comes with a reward. It'll be marginally better than this banana, but I think you'll comply."

"You have nothing to give me."

"Didn't I tell you? I know all about you, Regina. I know what you care about. I know what you like to put on your sundaes. I know everything. But more importantly, I know how to give you your son back to you."

"What have you done with Henry?"

"Done? Who says I've done anything with the boy? That was all your doing. When you gave up your son to stop Peter Pan's curse, you made it impossible for the two of you to exist in the same reality. So when I brought you over, he went away. If only there was _someone_ who could bring him back and rewrite the rules so you could be together!"

"You'll do that for me?"

The man in livery mocked her with another laugh. "I don't do charity. I find it more boring that watching blood clot. And let me tell you, watching those cells cohere is mind numbing work. But if you can entertain me, I just might make it happen."

"Tell me what to do," Regina begged. "I'll do anything for my son."

"Duh! Exclamation points!" the man said.

"Pardon?"

"The little marks on the coffee cups. They're called exclamation points."

Regina's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I know. I told you that earlier."

"No you didn't," the man argued. "Where was I? Oh, right. You were telling me you would do anything for your son. The trouble is, there is another woman here who would do as much."

"Swan."

"So you know what I want, right?"

"No need to spell it out any more than you have," Regina replied.

The man snapped his fingers, and the irons about the queen's wrists vanished without a trace. Regina rubbed at the freed skin. She smiled as she thought over the prospect. Making that woman's life miserable had been a fantasy she had buried deep within herself for her son's sake. But at what cost would she earn Henry back?

"Who are you?" she asked. "If we had ever met, I doubt I would have forgotten."

"It warms my heart to hear your flattery, but I'm not ready to reveal everything. Do not forget that you are only a pawn in this game. If you fail to entertain me, I have millions of other options at my beck and call. You are not the only one I brought to this land."

At the snap of his fingers, the man was gone, muttonchops and all. At that moment, a female patron with two daughters approached the queen and asked if she planned to keep the table all day. Regina silently stood and exited the coffee shop. _Entertain_, she thought. Moments later, the two girls were screaming as billions of coffee beans swarmed from their compartments and pelted every living thing.

* * *

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Hopefully you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. I have one more perspective to write before returning to Captain Hook and The Doctor.

I made a few slight edits to the last four paragraphs.


	5. Ariel I

Sorry about the delay in new posts. Since the school year started back up, I have been quite busy. Also, I realized that Emma moved to New York City rather than Boston after the destruction of Storybrooke. I guess it was obvious to some, but I could not tell the difference until I saw the title for the next episode. So I went back and edited some of my chapters to reflect the difference.

* * *

The man behind the Nerd Herd desk wore a stained white shirt. Where the stain came from, Ariel could not guess. In all honesty, she did not care so long as he could provide a small bit of information. The pocket protector identified him as Lester, though the card's picture did not match the tall, pasty white man whose blank stare unnerved the mermaid. His unkempt hair looked similar to a bush too heavily pruned.

"Excuse me, sir," Ariel said, failing to attract his attention. "I'm looking for…sir. Mr. Lester, I need…"

"Hehehe!"

"I need help finding a man. He's tall and handsome and gallant."

"He sounds awesome," the nerd herder said, betraying no interest in anything above Ariel's chest.

"His name is Prince Eric. He's my fiancée and the love of my life," Ariel added, hoping to appeal to the fellow's sympathy.

"I knew a guy named Eric once," the man replied in monotone. "We LARPed together once, but then he told me not to tell anyone about it. Turns out, he just wanted a discreet encounter."

"I have no idea what any of that meant," Ariel admitted, "but if you see my Eric, please let me know."

"Why would you want Eric? I'm pretty sure he couldn't satisfy you like I could."

"Huh?"

Just then, a fit, muscular man in an orange and green hoodie approached. Having already met Arthur Curry on the boat, Ariel had no interest in a reunion, especially when Eric's location remained a mystery. It is true Arthur had rescued her from that fisherman's net, but he knew no more of the curse than she. Worse still, he had mocked her focus on finding her true love with the cliché, "Plenty other fish in the sea." At least he had not touted himself as "a good catch."

"What are you doing, Ariel?" Arthur asked.

"Finding Prince Eric," she replied.

"You think that your prince charming…"

"Eric isn't Charming!" Ariel insisted. "Charming's Snow White's husband."

"Oooo-kay," Arthur conceded, doing his best not to burst out in hilarity. "All I'm saying is it doesn't make sense the way you're going about it. I mean, if this curse thing is real, I'm pretty sure your boy friend's first move would not be to go to the nearest store and look for the latest Call of Duty."

"Call of Duty sucks!" the nerd herder put in. "Your best bet is Thief five. It isn't out yet, but I could get you a pirated copy for a quickie in the supply closet."

"What is wrong with you? How do you still have a job?!" Arthur growled.

"I meet a certain quota," he replied.

Confused by the exchange, Ariel found another worker and asked if he had seen Eric. This worker, wearing a large, green polo, gaped at her as if he could not remember his own language. She repeated the question and description a bit slower and louder. His reaction made it seem as though he had never spoken in his entire life.

"We aren't going to find anything in here," Arthur interrupted. "I guarantee it."

"Maybe we can try across the street. I think there's law enforcement over there."

"In a commercial zone?"

"The sign said 'Marshalls.'"

As they moved toward the exit, an odd sight caught her attention. In a bin labeled "$5 DVDs," she found a box with a picture of the Evil Queen, Prince Charming, Captain Hook, and Emma on the cover of a rectangular box no thicker than her pinky. Even stranger, someone who looked very much like Arthur was carrying Ariel in a bikini. Across the middle of this box, she found the title "Once Upon Infinity: The Movie." On instinct, Ariel picked it up and examined every centimeter, hoping it would give her some idea of what to do next.

"I don't think now is the time to be watching movies," Arthur opined.

"What's a movie?" Ariel asked.

"That is."

"And what would happen if I watched it? Would it do flips or something?"

Arthur slapped his face and massaged his nose. "Are you telling me you've never seen a movie?"

"Of course I have," Ariel replied. "I've seen this one."

For some reason Ariel could not determine, Arthur Curry rolled his eyes and chuckled. Then he looked closely at the cover, and his eyes widened. He grabbed the box from Ariel's and rushed back to the Nerd Herd desk at the store's center. Lester (or whoever it was wearing Lester's badge) greeted him with the same level of enthusiasm as before.

"We need to watch this," Arthur said. "Could we use the home theatre room?"

"Well it goes against every store policy we have," the man behind the desk replied, "but I guess there's any point following rules now."

Minutes later, Arthur had ushered Ariel into a dark room with many strange devices. The only familiar object was a couch, but someone had spilled some sort of spherical, white substance all over it. When she sat down, the spheres crunched beneath her weight. Brushing the objects aside left her hand feeling oily. By the time Ariel felt comfortable, Arthur began trying to explain what "Once Upon Infinity: The Movie" was.

"This is the movie of our story. If we watch it, we'll know exactly what will happen. We can find out where Eric is and go there without having to do any leg work."

"How do you know?" Ariel asked.

"I saw it in a movie once."

"Oh. So movies are about informing the public. That's useful."

"N-no. Most movies are made-up stories."

"Why would anyone waste their time with that?"

"Because it's fun."

"It's fun to waste time?"

Arthur groaned. "Just watch."

Ariel directed her attention to a screen whose width outmatched her height. A message from the "FBI" appeared, but the microscopic text disappeared before she could make out the first word. She watched as Hook attempted to coax Emma into letting him enter her room and could not believe the woman's cold-hearted reaction to a simple kiss. The story moved along, showing various people reacting to the curse's aftermath.

Of all the places to wake up after a curse cloud tore through, Ariel's had to be the worst. Caught in a fisherman's net, she had squirmed through pounds of stinky cod. Though relieved to find legs rather than a tail, such superficial matters had compared with the feeling of hundreds of frightened fish flopping on her back. Now that she watched all these events unfold once more from the safety of a couch, Ariel wondered how she could have survived the ordeal. Indeed, Arthur's rescue appeared to have occurred just in time.

"How is this going to help? We already know this much?"

"Just wait."

The encounter with the nerd herder played out on screen. She wondered how these things could have been recorded already when it only happened twenty minutes ago. When the picture showed Ariel and Arthur sitting in front of a screen watching "Once Upon Infinity: The Movie," however, she felt the urge to look about for someone capturing events with a magical instrument. At that same moment, the screen showed Ariel turning to look at something.

"What are we watching now?" Ariel asked.

"Now."

"Yes, what is going on now?"

"We're watching the movie."

"I know, but what is happing now."

"This is now. We started out at then, but now we've caught up to now."

"Can't we skip over now and go to the future?"

"I can't find the remote."

"So there's no chance?"

"No chance of what?"

"You said something was remote."

"No I didn't."

"You most certainly did!" Ariel argued, growing more frustrated by the moment. "If you don't believe me, just watch your precious movie."

"I said I couldn't find the remote."

"Ugh! This is pointless. Go find Lester and ask him to make now then."

"Fine."

Once the nerd herder entered the home theatre room, he stared at the screen for several moments before jerking about like a fool. It seemed as though he wanted to confirm that what he did would appear. "Chuck! I am your father's brother's best friend's college roommate's cousin's great grandfather!"

"JUST FAST FORWARD! GEEZ!" Arthur shrieked.

Feigning a deep voice, the nerd herder replied, "I see your Schwarz is just as big as mine."

"NOW!"

The man pouted before pressing a button on one of the devices. The screen fizzled as two horizontal lines covered the screen. The events sped by for some time before she glimpsed the person Ariel desired to see most. "Stop!" she cried. "There he is!"

"That's not Eric," the nerd herder objected.

"Where is that?"

"The top of the Empire State Building," Arthur answered.

"Good luck getting there," the man said. "That's in New York."

* * *

If you enjoyed reading this chapter, please leave comments.


	6. Hook II

Listening to The Doctor with no name hurt the captain's brain. It was as though someone had decided to fire every last synapse in his head at the same time. Just when he thought he understood the fellow, he threw in a phrase or two of jargon only his traveling companion seemed to understand. What in the name of Medusa's stony glare did it mean for something to be "timey wimey?" Every once in a while, Amy gave him a look which seemed to say, "Just go with it."

Just when The Doctor could not get any stranger, he held his metal tube aloft and extended it somehow. The cylinder emitted an incessant buzzing, and the end gave off a bright green glow. It was either the most useless torch or something Killian Jones had never encountered before. Having traveled by magic bean, shadow, and Pegasus sail, he had begun to believe he had seen everything.

"Just what is that?" Captain Jones asked, pondering its value.

"Picking up traces of trans-universe particles!" The Doctor replied. "I don't know how that's possible though."

"Why's that, Doctor?" Amy asked.

"Because trans-universe particles can't exist. Not unless something has crossed from one universe into another. And that's not possible is it?"

"No, I suppose not," Hook replied, trying to avoid looking guilty. As a pirate, he had learned long ago how to conceal information without drawing suspicion. It did not particularly work while sailing beneath a skull-and-crossbones, but making port afforded many opportunities to hone the skill.

"What's really interesting is that they're everywhere. From what I'm seeing, the concentration was so great, it should have been visible. Tell me, did you happen to see anything strange in the last eight minutes and twenty-four seconds?"

"You mean aside from an eccentric, nameless man jumping out a blue box that wasn't here moments before?"

"Now you're catching on," Amy said.

"I'm not answering any questions until I know who you are, where you came from, and what that thing is," Killian replied. In his mind, he wished to add to that list a query regarding the blue box, but list three questions in quick succession befuddled even the most brilliant mind.

The Doctor's smile flattened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a billfold. "Dr. John Smith from the university," he replied. "I work on the particle generator there. And this is a sonic screwdriver. Satisfied?"

_You really expect me to fall for psych paper?_ Killian's first encounter with that had been during his tenure in the royal navy. Brigands and smugglers were loath to set sail without a sheet or two in tow. That way, should a frigate intercept them, the scalawags could provide proof of their right to traverse the waters. Captain Walter Pike had tried that trick on him three months into his career. Had it not been for his brother, Killian would have blundered everything and allowed contraband to pass into enemy hands. _Poor Liam. How I miss you!_

"I see," Killian replied. "So what is a sonic screwdriver anyway?"  
"A screwdriver that's sonic," Amy answered as if talking to a primary student.

"The particles are dissipating. I need to know what you saw!" The Doctor exclaimed. The more he spoke, the more Killian felt convinced he held valuable information.

"Just some red smoke. It was everywhere for a while, but then it disappeared."

"Did you breathe it in?" The Doctor asked, waving his sonic screwdriver over the pirate's mouth and chest.

"I couldn't very well hold my breath for that long, could I?"

"That depends," The Doctor answered. "Have you spent any time on Rexiplanfinextoria?"

"No." Hook decided there would be no use in trying to find out what a dinosaur had to do with breathing.

"Then I suppose not."

The Doctor occupied himself with swiping his sonic screwdriver over every object in Emma Swan's apartment. He did not seem to like the sound it made when near the iHome, for he took six steps back and stuck out his tongue at the device. Amy, meanwhile, examined the many pictures of Emma embracing her son at different locations. It amazed Hook that she had managed to visit The Grand Canyon, Disney Land, and Mount Rushmore all in one year and find the funds to live in such a large apartment. Now that he thought about it, he could not recall what the woman did for a living, if anything. All she had ever bothered talking about had been Henry. Being a mother could not possibly pay this well any more than having the prince of another realm as a father.

"Iiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"What was that, Doctor?" Amy asked.

Killian Jones could only identify the sound's source as coming from the Northwest. Other than that, he could only guess that a furious mermaid had managed to drag herself through the streets of New York and commandeered a megaphone. How in the universe did Amy Pond expect The Doctor to know what had shrieked? Could he recognize any sound and name it at a moment's notice? That notion made The Doctor's panicked expression all the more amusing to Killian.

"Iiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!"

"When I say run, run," The Doctor instructed, his expression unreadable.

"What? You don't want us jumping on pogo sticks?" Killian knew his contribution would only irritate the other two, but he did not much care whether the liars liked him.

"IIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

Now there were two voices screaming from opposite ends of the building. From the sound of it, they were much closer than before. From outside, the frightened yells and pleas reached the pirate's ears. Killian ran to the open window and poked his head out just in time for two blurs to fall half a meter away. Seconds later, the bodies splattered the ground. The force of gravity had been enough to splash brain matter in every direction. He could hear more bodies crunching against the road every few seconds.

"**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!**"

"Run!"

"Are you mad?" Killian yelled back. "If we go outside, we'll be next. We're safe as long as we stay right where we are."

Seconds after making that assertion, a great, black beast flew past the window and let out a shriek so horrible he had to cover his ears or risk losing his hearing. Having the appearance of a black, serpentine-necked dragon, it smelled of three and a half trillion rotting corpses. Its leathery wings fanned the stench right into Captain Hook's nostrils. Scaly flesh covered its body along with savage spikes popping out at irregular intervals. With its massive claws, it ripped off half the roof of the building across the street.

"On second thought, we need to run," Killian announced.

The Doctor joined the pirate at the window and, with a manic smile, proclaimed, "You are beautiful!"

"Please tell me he's joking!"

"He never jokes about the beauty of life," Amy objected.

The "beautiful" beast roared so loud, covering his ears proved ineffective for Killian. More than the pain in his head, the sound managed to impose a feeling of hopelessness. Evil would win, the world would fall into darkness without prospect of rising, and Emma would never love him. Something dripped from his cheeks. Amy's eyes had become red as tears left a trail down her face. The Doctor appeared to remain unaffected.

"What is it, Doctor?" Amy asked once more, sniffling this time.

"I couldn't say for sure, but it looks brilliant, doesn't it?"

Killian thought The Doctor's confident voice must have drawn the creature's attention, for it stared right at the apartment window where three tasty human morsels stood like sacrificial lambs. Its eyes were bottomless pits which narrowed at the prey. Opening its mouth for another shriek, Killian watched as death bore its teeth. Each bicuspid and canine glistened with slimy mucus dripping down its lips.

"It's getting more beautiful by the second, Doctor," Killian scoffed. "What do we do now? Climb into your little blue box and hope for the best?"

The Doctor gripped the sides of Killian's head with both hands and stared straight into his eyes. "You are _brilliant_! Come along then!"

With that, both The Doctor and his companion dashed for Emma's bedroom. For want of a better plan, Killian Jones pursued them. The blue door creaked as it opened, as if no one had remembered to lubricate the hinges in over fifty years. The Doctor disappeared inside, but Amy stopped to urge Killian inside. The pirate turned back.

"**_IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!_**"

Sighing, Killian ran as fast as he could into the blue box, expecting to knock everyone into the back wall. Instead, he stopped at the Police Call Box's entry, astonished. All his experiences in Neverland and the Enchanted Forest could not have prepared him for this. Rather than a cramped closet, the box contained a room larger than two of Emma's apartments put together. Round and breathtaking, the room contained so many blinking lights and knobs and switches and levers, he could not guess at what any of it meant.

"Get in!" Amy screamed as she pulled the pirate by the arm.

The fell beast tore off the window out of which the three had been staring not a minute ago. Its head ventured into the flat, hissing and shrieking as it went. The Doctor snapped his fingers, and the door closed. Somehow, not seeing the monster calmed Killian's nerves enough for him to stutter, "It-it-it's…"

"We know," Amy said as if reading the fellow's mind. "It's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside."

The ground shook. All three of them stumbled as the whole room shifted toward the left. It was as if they were standing upon a coin as it came to rest after spinning. The sensation of being lifted caught Killian by surprise. His stomach might have rebelled if not for his experience on stormy seas. Stumbling to the center of the room, which he surmised to be what controlled everything in the box, Killian began pressing buttons.

"Leave my TARDIS alone!" The Doctor yelled.

"That's not a nice word," Killian mumbled.

The Doctor shoved him out of the way, causing the pirate to fall onto his side. Later, he would most likely find bruising there. "Do you realize what you've done?" The Doctor screamed as he pulled on a devise which looked like a lawnmower's starter. "All the raindrops are coming down in lemon drops!"

"Won't Dumbledore be happy?" Amy replied, her facetious tone all too evident.

The Doctor appeared to use every mechanism at the center of the room, sometimes even twice. The sounds of wheezing combined with an unlubricated engine starting filled the room. The room stopped shaking, and Killian found the strength to regain his footing. Striding over to The Doctor, the pirate clenched and unclenched his remaining fingers.

"What just happened?"

"We're moving again," The Doctor called out cheerfully. "Into space again…I just can't wait to get out in space again…"

"There is no way you work on particle generators," Killian accused.

"Oh, good," The Doctor replied. "I was afraid you might not be clever enough to figure that out."

"What is this place?" Killian demanded. "And how can it all fit into that little blue box?"

"Uh…space ship-slash-time machine and Gallifreyan technology."

"Now you're just making fun of me."

"If I wanted to do that, I'd come up with a nickname for you like 'Handsy.'"

Killian's fist attacked The Doctor's right eye.

"Stop it!" Amy screamed.

The Doctor now sported a cut above his eye, and the skin surrounding it showed signs of a forthcoming bruise. Pleased with his work, Killian stepped back and prepared himself for a retaliatory strike. But it never came. The Doctor merely asked if the pirate was satisfied and turned back to the center controls. The wheezing sound returned, followed by the feeling of dropping from a foot over the ground. Amy and The Doctor walked toward the door.

"What are you doing?" Killian asked. "That monster is still out there!"

"Is it?" The Doctor asked. "Are you quite sure of that?"

* * *

Up next time is another chapter from Emma's point of view.


End file.
